You Can't Be Both
by JennyLB
Summary: Neal Caffrey is conflicted about what to do:  should he run off with Mozzie and the German plunder or stay with the people he now regards as family.  After being kidnapped by Vincent Adler's partner, Neal must decide whether he will be a con or a man.
1. Chapter 1: About the People

**Chapter One: About the People**

_Wednesday, October 12, 2011_

_12:32 p.m._

That was it.

FBI Special Agent Peter Burke had reached the limit of his patience with his young Confidential Informant, Neal Caffrey. Peter had spent much of his professional career chasing and then catching—twice—the young criminal. Then he spent the past few years and a great deal of his energy allowing the convicted bond forger, who was also the prime suspect in numerous other white collar crimes across the world, to work alongside him as his consultant.

They walked a slippery slope together. Neither man completely trusted the other, yet both respected—and then came to care for— the other. Peter, the epitome of a professional law man, was not one to be personally involved with his colleagues. But there was just something about Neal. First getting under Peter's skin and then into his mind, Neal eventually wormed his way into Peter's heart before Peter was ever even aware of what had happened to him. Peter understood his wife being taken in by Neal's translucent blue eyes, Cary Grant charm, and million-dollar smile. But Peter was usually adept at holding criminals—even charming ones—at bay.

Their relationship often shifted among the gamut of roles they played with one another: handler/criminal consultant, FBI agent/nemesis, friend/friend, brother/brother, and father/son. In all roles, Peter continuously corrected Neal's indiscretions, never turning a blind eye or deaf ears to Neal's impulsive and careless acts. Peter seized every opportunity to teach Neal a better way to live his young life. He hoped the family life he and Elizabeth modeled for Neal would show him that it was not too late for him to choose a white-picket life over a white collar criminal existence.

At every opportunity, Peter tried to convince his young friend that people can change and that he could have a better life. Mozzie, on the other hand, continued to remind Neal that the PTA life was just not the life a conman got to have. Neal felt conflicted because sometimes he wanted the Burke life and then other times he didn't want a life that focused its dinner conversations around window strippings.

To then further complicate matters in Neal's head, there was June and her late husband Byron. Byron, even though he had passed away before Neal had met him, embodied the fantasy that conman could change. Conmen like Byron could give up the addiction of the euphoria of the con for family and love. Neal could feel Byron's presence as he sported around in Byron's fine vintage suits.

For Neal, the con wasn't about the money…it was about the people. Even though he didn't quite understand it, it was ultimately about family for Neal Caffrey.

And right now, Peter and Elizabeth Burke were the closest to family that Neal had.

The type of family life Peter and Elizabeth had was the life Neal and Kate had dreamed about. But now Kate was gone, and Neal was trying to move on and develop a life with other women—in particular—the beautiful insurance investigator, Sara Ellis. The relationship he had with Sara just didn't feel as right as the relationship he had with Kate, though. He would always believe that Kate was the love of his life, the only woman with whom he would ever imagine himself standing behind the white-picket fence, babies in arms. He tried to envision a life with Sara, and he even tried to convince himself that he could be as happy with Sara as he had been with Kate. Neal was beginning to fall for Sara, but she—unlike Kate—had made it clear that she would not cross a line she couldn't come back from. That was the biggest difference between the two women. So, to avoid being hurt, Neal tried his best not to go in too deep with Sara as he had done with Kate.

Peter knew a lot about his young friend, but he still had many missing pieces that were difficult to fill in. He knew almost nothing about Neal's childhood except that his father was a dirty cop. Even though Neal was not forthcoming about his early life, Peter suspected that he had not grown up in a world surrounded by white picket fences and weekly neighborhood barbeques. He could also see throughout their time together that Neal was trying to do better, so he accepted much of Neal's injudiciousness.

But, today was different. Neal hadn't made it to the 21st floor of the FBI building where the White Collar division was housed. Peter was at first aggravated that Neal hadn't shown up to work on time. His cell phone went immediately to voicemail, and text messages appeared to be ignored. By mid-day, Peter was convinced that Neal was intentionally dodging his handler who was responsible for his every move. His aggravation then turned to anger.

They were closing in on a group of criminals who were involved in the heist of a family collection of jewelry with street value worth over three million dollars, and Neal's expertise was very much needed. They had spent much of the past two weeks working on this case. Initially, Peter worried that Neal could not withstand the temptation, but Neal's silver tongue convinced Peter otherwise. Peter relented—against his better judgment because he thought he knew Neal better than the conman knew himself.

But of all days for Neal to come up missing, this certainly wasn't it. Neal's absence looked bad for both men.

Neal knew damn well that they had a 2:00 meeting to go over the evidence and plot out subsequent moves with Peter's boss, Reese Hughes, and Hughes's boss, Assistant Director Kyle Bancroft. Because of the power Hughes had over him, Neal was afraid of Hughes. AD Bancroft, however, was different. He actually acted as though he liked the young criminal consultant—even escorting him to the White Bored exhibit when no one else would take Neal beyond his two-mile radius. It just didn't make sense that Neal wasn't there at his desk pouring over his notes.

"Diana," Peter called as he stood in front of his glassed-in office one flight above Diana's cubicle on the main floor. "Contact the Marshalls and get a 60 day report of Neal's tracking data."

Diana's deep brown eyes glanced up at Peter who remained standing at the railing while he issued the order. She nodded and picked up her office phone to order the tracking data. Diana knew her boss was worried and agitated, so she offered no comments on the situation. She knew Peter well enough to know that he would have to come to his own conclusions in his own time. Putting the receiver back down on its cradle, Diana spoke as she looked back up at Peter, "The report should be here within the next few hours."

"Thanks Diana," Peter mumbled as he turned and retreated back into his office.

The fourth member of their team, Junior Agent Clinton Jones, turned around to face Diana. "He better get himself in here soon," Jones muttered under his breath but loud enough for Diana to hear.

"Something's not right," Diana said directly to Jones. "Caffrey wouldn't just disappear."

Jones raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips together. Both Jones and Diana had grown to like the criminal conman turn FBI consultant. He had first annoyed then humored them, and now he was as much a part of their team as they were.

"Peter's not happy about something," Jones answered her. "What's not right is the possibility of a three and a half million dollar collection of family heirlooms out there. Peter's not stupid."

"I know," Diana answered, "but something just doesn't feel right. Caffrey was looking forward to the meeting with Hughes and Bancroft today."

"What doesn't feel right is you taking up for him," Jones snickered.

"I know…right?" Diana giggled back at Jones. Then they both returned to their paperwork in anticipation of the 2:00 meeting with Hughes. They needed to be completely sharp since it was looking as though they couldn't rely on Neal being there to help Peter take lead.

Once Peter was safely in his office behind his glass office door closed to the agents around him, he phoned Elizabeth. They made small talk for several moments before Elizabeth stated openly that she knew he was calling about Neal. It was usually about Neal. She didn't mind helping her husband work through his issues with his young partner and friend. In a way, she felt good about herself that he relied so heavily on her for her words of wisdom.

"Did you get a chance to talk to Neal about last night?"

"No," Peter answered abruptly.

"So, what's he done this time?" Elizabeth asked.

"He hasn't come in to work today. Whatever he's done, I may not be able to protect him," Peter sighed into the phone to her.

"Peter," Elizabeth quietly responded, "Whatever he's done, he needs you. You need to go and find him."

"Please just tell me it's because he doesn't want to face me about leaving our home so abruptly last night," Peter supplicated.

"It's not about the jewelry heist," Elizabeth answered, knowing what Peter really meant.

Peter suspected that Neal's disappearing act was just that—an act. He didn't want to believe Neal was involved in the jewelry heist, but his timing to come up missing was not good. Peter hoped that Neal's absence was just his way of not having to deal with the fallout from the dinner party the previous evening at the Burke home that didn't end so well—for reasons unknown to him and Elizabeth.

The evening before was meant to be a surprise birthday dinner at the Burke home for Neal. Elizabeth had wanted something small and intimate to show him that they cared about him. They had never celebrated his birthday or included him in their holiday celebrations, so Elizabeth wanted some way to show Neal that he had a family.

Peter and Neal's already complex relationship was further complicated when Adler brought the U-Boat full of Nazi plunder into their lives. The ordeal with Adler and the remnant of the Chrysler building painting that Peter suspected was Neal's had caused her husband great strife and had strained the relationship he had built with his young friend during the past several years. Neal and Peter were now trying to get back on track, but something still didn't feel entirely right between them.

Peter felt guilty for being too quick to accuse Neal of being involved in the heist of the Nazi plunder. Getting the lab results stating that the ink was at least 70 years old and seeing Neal's Chrysler Building painting in his apartment confirmed to Peter that he had been hasty in his accusations toward Neal. The all-night polygraph and aloof behavior didn't help matters either. Peter had called a truce, which greatly relieved Neal, but there was still a tiny place in the pit of his gut that told him Neal was involved—somehow, some way.

Neal, though, was working underhandedly with Mozzie to get everything in place to flee with the Nazi plunder, their big one, their white whale. Their long-con with Vincent Adler was finally paying off after all these years. They could run away, leaving this world and these identities behind and be set for the rest of their lives. Neal Caffrey would be dead; Victor Moreau would resume his flesh and bones. That quirk of fate of resuming Kate's last name, however, was a little unsettling to Neal.

There were twinges of guilt that would rise up within Neal about having to constantly deceive Peter, but Mozzie reassured him that they were conmen at heart and would never be able to live the life that Peter and Elizabeth exemplified. But, he still felt a small spasm of guilt because, after all, Peter was his friend and partner…and often even acted as his father. As such, Neal truly recognized Peter's intelligence, and the thought that Peter may actually catch him yet a third time frightened him. If anyone could figure him out, it would certainly be Special Agent Peter Burke.

Peter was the smartest man Neal had ever met. Peter wanted to re-establish his relationship with Neal, so he accepted his wife's suggestion of a surprise birthday dinner. It seemed to be a gesture in the right direction.

_Tuesday, October 11, 2011_

_7:16 p.m._

So they left work that Tuesday evening and headed to the Burke home.

As they continued along their journey to his home, Peter finally broke the silence with an opportunity to lecture Neal some more about the Adler situation. Neal patiently half-listened but respectfully remained quiet. Peter then reminded Neal a second time, "Remember what I told you: you can either be a con or a man, but you can't be both."

"I know, Peter, I remember." Neal knew that Peter's words were spot on, but he wished Peter knew how difficult it was for him to choose the latter because the former was what he had known all of his life. And, as Mozzie constantly reminded him, a conman was who he was and he couldn't change that. Or, as Mozzie had pointed out, a leopard can't change his spots.

They left Peter's Taurus and went inside the Burke home to Elizabeth's surprise birthday dinner for Neal. But the dinner party that Tuesday evening just didn't end the way Peter and Elizabeth had intended or had imagined.


	2. Chapter 2: Family Tetherings

**Chapter Two: Family Tetherings**

_Tuesday, October 11, 2011_

_6:52 p.m._

It was past the work hour Tuesday evening, and Peter knew that Elizabeth had planned a small intimate gathering at their home to celebrate Neal's birthday. Sara had left that morning on a business trip and wasn't scheduled to back for a week and a half. He hadn't given Neal any hint to ruin the surprise. If he had ruined the surprise, he surely would have received the wrath of his wife upon him. All day they worked diligently on the case files to begin bringing the family jewelry heist to a close. Peter had scheduled a meeting with Hughes and Bancroft to go over the case details, but right now his only focus was in doing what his wife had asked him to do: not spoil the surprise for Neal.

"Come on Caffrey," Peter had said as he slapped the folders in his hands against Neal's feet that were propped up on his desk as he went through his case notes on the family jewel hest in anticipation of the meeting with Hughes and Bancroft the next day.

"Where," Neal asked, barely looking up from the grey file folder with a yellow highlighter in his mouth.

"Elizabeth's made dinner and she said you had to come. She said to tell you that she made your favorites and won't take no for an answer."

Neal put his feet on the floor and took the highlighter out of his mouth. "My favorites," he asked.

"Yes, those little chickens," Peter answered.

Neal didn't bother correcting him anymore because he knew that Peter knew they were Cornish hens and only said that to get a reaction out of Neal.

They drove in relative quiet to Peter's home, discussing a few last minute details about their jewelry heist case and then Peter seizing the opportunity to bring in Adler and encourage Neal to be a man and not a con. Neal was confident that he could persuade Hughes and Bancroft in moving forward with a search warrant to search the premises of the men they suspected had masterminded the heist. Peter wasn't as confident in the case they were building but was confident in Neal. They were both a little tired and had grown comfortable with one another throughout the past few years not to have to fill every moment with conversation.

When they arrived at the Burke home, Elizabeth greeted them at the door.

"Hello honey," Peter said as he kissed his wife. She took his coat and reached out to collect Neal's as well.

"Elizabeth," Neal nodded to her. "Thank you for the invitation. What's the special occasion during the work week?"

"It's your birthday," she confessed.

Neal instinctively took a step backward. Looking down at his feet, he forced his eyes back up to face Elizabeth and Peter. "You shouldn't have."

"We wanted to. Come on, everything's hot and on the table," Elizabeth answered, patting Neal on the shoulder and pushing him toward their dining room table.

Peter saw Neal's uneasy facial expression and decided it best not to slap him on his back and gleefully croon out a happy birthday. They walked over to the table and clumsily sat down.

The two men sat quietly as Elizabeth passed the food and forced conversation on them. Peter's discomfort grew as he saw Neal becoming increasingly withdrawn from them. He was not even able to fake a fraction of his normal million dollar smile.

"What's wrong, Neal," Elizabeth asked, seeing Peter shift uncomfortably in his chair beside her.

"Um, no…nothing. I'm fine."

"Is it the food? I thought these were your favorites," Elizabeth asked.

Peter shifted again. Peter's uncomfortable shifting made Elizabeth begin to feel awkward.

"No…no…it's delicious," Neal said as he put a piece of the Cornish hen in his mouth and smiled up at her.

"Oh, okay. You just don't seem like yourself. Here," she said, pushing a small wrapped box in front of him.

Neal's face went stoic as his smile dropped completely from his face. He reached forward to pick up the small wrapped box accentuated by a large gold bow. Holding the box in his hands for several moments, he looked back and forth between Elizabeth and Peter and tried forcing a smile. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Go ahead and unwrap it," Peter finally spoke—much to Elizabeth's relief.

Neal took in a large breath, trying to be as discrete as possible.

He fumbled with the package and finally opened it up to disclose a gold tie pin with the FBI insigne in its middle. Staring at it in his hands, he wanted to get out of there…needed to get away from Peter and Elizabeth Burke. His emotions were welling up inside him, lodging in his throat. He couldn't talk, couldn't even swallow. His eyes hurt. Ringing noises clapped in his ears. He could see both Peter and Elizabeth's mouths moving, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. His forehead dripped of perspiration, and he hastily threw back his chair to get away from them.

"I've got to go," Neal stammered. "I'm late for the gym. Tonight's the night I usually work out and swim. I've really got to go."

Peter and Elizabeth just starred up at Neal from their seated positions at their dining room table.

"Really, thank you. Thank you for this. I just really need to go." Neal dropped the FBI tie pin, still in its box, down beside his plate of half eaten food and scurried toward the door. He bolted out the door, not even looking back at the couple who continued to sit at their dining room table with their mouths ajar.

After several minutes, Elizabeth said, "Honey, what just happened here? He didn't even get his coat."

"I have no idea. I have never seen him like this before. This is not the Neal Caffrey that I thought I knew. How does he think he's even getting home?" Peter walked out on their porch to see if Neal happened to be out there, but Neal was nowhere in sight.

"Do you see him," Elizabeth questioned, still sitting at the table.

"He must have walked. He's out of his two-mile radius, and the Marshalls are going to be alerted because I told them he was with me and that I would be driving him home. What the hell is he thinking?"

"He's going to miss his overcoat pretty soon," Elizabeth answered. Elizabeth began cleaning the food off the table. Peter shut the front door and looked over at his phone on the table by their couch, resigning himself for the inevitable call from the Marshall's office. When it didn't immediately ring, he went over to help Elizabeth clear the table. He picked up the gold tie pin and pushed it toward the center of their table. Neal's reaction was quite different than the one he had expected.

Neal loved ostentatious things, and his FBI Consultant's badge was a cherished possession of Neal's. He had even at one point half-jokingly inquired about the possibility of him getting a ten-year FBI ring. The tie pin was a great gift for his young consultant friend, so Peter was completely confused as to why Neal reacted so adversely to it. He told Elizabeth he would speak to Neal the next morning at work, and that he would answer the Marshall's phone call when it came in and try to explain what had happened. They retired to bed. Neal's FBI tie pin still lay in the center of the Burke dining room table.

The Marshall's office didn't call. Peter awoke the next morning with that realization and something gnawing at his gut.


	3. Chapter 3: The Patsy

**Chapter Three: The Patsy**

_Tuesday, October 11, 2011_

_8:24 p.m._

Neal scurried out of the Burke home and into the streets. He couldn't breathe or see or hear. Everything was spinning. Kneeling down beside Peter's Ford Taurus to try and catch his breath, he realized he was cold and had left his overcoat inside the Burke home. He decided it was better to be cold than to face Peter and Elizabeth during his moment of personal crisis. He was embarrassed that he couldn't become someone else by reading a script in his mind or by slipping on someone else's mask. He had always been able to smile largely and assume the persona of someone else in the flash of a second, but something happened to him at the mention of his birthday, the smell of his favorite foods, and the feel of the small wrapped gift. Neal honestly didn't know what was going on in his head. He felt sick to his stomach, so he remained stooped over against Peter's car.

Then he heard the front door of the Burke home open and saw light from their foyer ease onto their front porch. A figure emerged. Neal remained perfectly still so the figure—presumably Peter—would not spot him. A few minutes later, the figure retreated back into the Burke home. Neal pulled his legs out so he could sit on the curb between Peter's and Elizabeth's parked cars. After catching his breath and feeling more normal, he trotted toward his loft apartment at June's. He became acutely aware that the Marshall's office may pick up on his movement and call Peter. At that time, he honestly didn't care. He just wanted to get back to the security of his apartment.

Climbing the steps up to his apartment, he decided that a swim may be good for him to help him clear his mind. He shed his suit and dropped it uncaringly on his bed, and then he changed into jeans, a tee shirt, and a light windbreaker for the short trek to the gym. As he reached the intersection before the gym, he heard a noise behind him and frustratingly turned around to ask Peter to give him some space tonight and that they could talk tomorrow. As he turned, he first heard the crack. Then he felt the pain and then pressure on the right side of his head. Then nothing.

As Neal began falling, a large man grabbed him from underneath his arms before he hit the dark, cold pavement. Even though he was unconscious, another man slipped a heavy black cotton hood over Neal's head. They then shoved Neal into the back of the van that waited on the street where Neal was accosted.

"He's heavy to be such a small son of a bitch," one man joked to the other.

"Shut up," the other scolded, "and let's get the hell out of here. We're already over three hours late."

Within moments of striking Neal, the van sped toward its destination—a closed down restaurant on Broadway named Luchow's. Neal lay unconscious throughout the entire journey. Twenty-five minutes later, they arrived at Luchow's, which had become the center of their operations for the past six months. The two men dragged Neal's limp body into the basement level of the restaurant where a well dressed man, the mastermind of the operation, sat smoking a cigar.

"Hmmm, you must have cracked him good," the well dressed man spat out.

Neither man spoke. They slightly panted as they hauled Neal into what used to be the walk-in freezer and bound his wrists and ankles together.

"Remember," the well dressed man spoke again, "he's never met a lock he couldn't pick. Use those cables generously. Don't cut off his circulation; just make sure he can't Houdini on us."

The two men did as they were told. Then, for extra security, they looped the cable restraining Neal to a meat hook at the top of the freezer. Neal was still unconscious. Blood from the blow to his head had snaked around his scalp until it spread across his hairline above his forehead and then ran down the side of his face. The black hood absorbed some of the blood on the top of his scalp.

"Come and get me when he wakes," the well dressed man instructed then disappeared up the steps to the main level of the abandoned restaurant where he had created a make-shift office for himself. The men hated to bother their boss when he was in his office, so they kicked Neal's feet for continuing to be unconscious.

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Wednesday, October 12, 2011

_6:40 a.m._

By morning Neal awakened with a headache like he'd never experienced in his life. The two men were still there, but their boss had gone with instructions for them to send him a text message when Neal awakened. They did as they were told.

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Wednesday, October 12, 2011

_12:31 p.m._

By noon the well dressed man emerged again from the steps to the basement where Neal was being held. Two other men were there keeping guard. They first stood then sat down when their boss motioned for them to sit. He slid the rusty lock and stepped into the old freezer.

Neal could hear someone enter his crude prison cell. The pain in his head was so intense, and his wrists and ankles hurt from being bound for the past fifteen hours.

"Excuse me," Neal sarcastically stated, "but I have a doozy of a headache from that frat party I must have forgotten I went to. Would you happen to have some Ibuprofen I could have? About four would fix me up."

The well dressed man smiled at his cynicism. "Did you say four? Perhaps I can help you out. But you have to help me out first."

"No sir, I'm not in to that kind of partying."

"You're quite the jokester, now aren't you? You obviously don't know what kind of trouble you've landed yourself into. But I must thank you for being our patsy and for coming so willingly to this party we've thrown in your honor."

Neal's heart pounded a little harder and faster. He was then reminded of the dinner party Peter and Elizabeth had given to him the night before. He then remembered leaving it and going home, changing his clothes, and then walking to the gym near his apartment. He didn't remember arriving at the gym.

"So, this is what I need for you to do," the well dressed man continued, interrupting Neal's recollection of the events the evening before.

"I'm all ears," Neal answered.

"Good. I expected no less of you. That jewelry heist you've been investigating. Well, you'll need not dig any deeper. I have them. What I need for you to do is fence them for me. They're worth over three million, and I expect at least that. I hear Nick Halden is the best and knows the best."

Neal instinctively wanted to nod his head, but it hurt too much to move. So he remained still.

"What have you got to say? Anything? I trust you can get them out there for me."

"Sir," Neal answered, "all I have to say is that I know who you are. I recognize your voice. Seen any good White Bored exhibits lately?"

There was a long pause between them as the well dressed man's facial expression dropped from smug to disbelief to anger.

"Why yes, Mr. Caffrey. I have seen the most excellent White Bored exhibit. It was quite the commentary on the modern workplace, now wasn't it?"

"Yes sir, Assistant Director Bancroft, it was. I can't remember if I properly thanked you for escorting me to that exhibit," Neal answered.

Bancroft removed the heavy cotton hood from Neal's head. The two men smiled arrogantly at one another.


	4. Chapter 4: The Grand Inquisitor

**Chapter Four: The Grand Inquisitor**

_Wednesday, October 12, 2011_

_12:48 p.m._

"Okay Mr. Caffrey. Here's how it's going to work. If you cooperate by fencing the jewelry, then I can—at the nod of my head—set things in motion for Peter to take the fall for the jewelry heist. You will in no way be fingered. It will all be on Agent Burke's back. I can protect you from prison," Bancroft said as he spoke directly in Neal's face, never taking his eyes away from Neal's.

Neal remained silent. He made no move. His eyes remained completely still as they stared back at Bancroft.

After several minutes, Bancroft got tired of Neal's blatant defiance and remembered that Neal was also quite a patient man as had often been described in his games of chess.

"It's your choice," Bancroft said. He then turned and left the old walk-in freezer that had become Neal's prison cell. He shut the door and pushed the lock into place. All light had been removed from Neal's cell.

Sitting there in the complete darkness, Neal contemplated what Bancroft had told him. Within a few minutes, he heard the lock slide once again, and Bancroft's figure appeared into the light.

"I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that if you refuse to fence the jewelry, I can also nod my head and have the Burke family cars equipped with explosives that will blow both Agent Burke and his beautiful wife to the sky. We would have to call in dozens of forensic anthropologists to reassemble their body parts to have enough to justify the expense of a coffin."

Bancroft saw Neal's face grow white and solemn. He knew he had gotten to the young conman with the threat of killing the Burkes. He again turned and left Neal in the darkness of his cell.

Neal sat propped against the wooden slat board wall of the old freezer. The realization hit him hard. Either way, Neal thought, Peter loses. "His life or his name? His life is his name. Jesus, how could I ever make such a decision?"

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_Wednesday, October 12, 2011_

_7:50 p.m._

By evening, 22 hours into his abduction, Neal was beginning to feel the effects of his deprivation of food and beverage. He was strong, he reassured himself, and had certainly withstood more grueling circumstances. He dozed on and off, trying to be acutely aware of any voices or conversations outside of his cell. Sometime later—Neal wasn't quite sure— Bancroft came back into his cell and slapped his face to awaken him from a deeper sleep he had fallen into.

"Okay, my young friend, what is your decision," Bancroft haughtily boomed directly into Neal's face.

"So we're friends now. That's interesting. I'd like to see the accommodations you make for your enemies," Neal answered, still feeling cocky.

"I see how you like to play. You're going to get broken, Mr. Caffrey. You may feel indestructible right now, but you can guarantee that my associates and I can break you without a second thought."

Neal didn't move or drop his eyes from Bancroft's eyes.

"Okay, let me get my associate in here to explain to you exactly what we need you to do," Bancroft squalled into Neal's face.

Neal swallowed hard not knowing what to expect. He knew he was playing tough, but his legs felt weak, his head dizzy, and his thirst was beginning to be more powerful than he could convince himself otherwise. One of the goons who was always positioned outside Neal's cell stepped into the freezer.

"Please show my young friend here that he has made me have to play harder with him," Bancroft commanded to the man.

Before Neal could process what Bancroft meant, the man punched him straight in his gut. Neal bent over, trying to find some air to breathe in. The pain wracked his entire body. Before he had been able to even catch a breath, the man lifted his booted foot and kicked Neal again in the same place where the first blow had landed. Neal doubled over on his side in pain. The man wasted no time in grabbing Neal by the back of his head and physically forcing him to his feet. That movement caused the first whack to Neal's head the evening of his kidnapping to open up and begin to bleed again. Fresh blood trickled down Neal's hairline. Neal stood, physically being held up by the large associate by the back of his head, and faced Bancroft.

"So, you're forcing me to reveal to you more than I had wanted. But since we are partners, I shall tell you. Are you with me, Mr. Caffrey?"

Bancroft waited several minutes for Neal to lift up his eyes and look at him. Neal was panting, trying to get his breathing under control.

"Are you with me, Mr. Caffrey," Bancroft repeated through gritted teeth.

"Yes," Neal answered with as much might as he could rally within himself.

"The three and a half million from the jewelry heist is needed to finance my escape with the Nazi plunder," Bancroft flatly stated.

"The stolen goods from that Nazi U-Boat blew up in that warehouse the day Adler was killed. I know you know that. Agent Peter Burke wrote the report," Neal said calmly but was a little rattled.

"Now, Neal Caffrey, you and I both know what happened. Yes, my colleague may have been taken down by your Agent Burke, but I have connections that go well beyond the auspices of the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

Neal could feel the blood draining from his face but focused hard on keeping his facial expression void of any emotions.

"Anyway, your Agent Burke did me a favor. I no longer have to account for Vincent in the division of the goods. He cared for you like a son, you know? We three would have made a great team," Bancroft stated.

"I'm nothing like him…or you!"

"Aren't you," Bancroft mockingly asked.

"No!"

"You're exactly like us…you are us," Bancroft goaded.

After several moments, Neal defiantly gritted, "I'm nothing like you."

"Suit yourself," Bancroft answered.

Then the realization hit Neal. "You're the one behind Project Mentor!"

"Yes, I am the mentor and you are my student. You have always been the student."

"You're also responsible for Kate's death. She was innocent. You didn't have to kill her," Neal stated sorrowfully.

"You're right. She didn't have to die. But when Burke showed up on the landing strip and you turned around, we had to alter our plans. So, actually Mr. Caffrey, you killed Miss Moreau."

Neal could feel his chest getting tighter. He wanted to break down but didn't want Bancroft to have that satisfaction. So he remained silent. Neal's voice was almost a whisper again. "You blackmailed Fowler. You're the one pulling the strings at the FBI."

"You certainly didn't think Vincent could do all this on his own, now did you?"

Neal sneered at Bancroft. "No. I knew some other lowlife piece of shit was involved."

"You showed so much promise. You know, Vincent and I thought for sure that you would join the ranks of the big boys. He gave you the opportunity to come clean. Remember that, son?"

Neal's face dropped. He despised being called son.

"But you chose that little bald headed street con over the man who truly made you who you are today. You blew that one, now didn't you?"

Neal continued to stare at the grey concrete floor.

"Don't blow this one, Mr. Caffrey. Agent and Mrs. Burke do not have to die, too. Burke will go down for this, but he doesn't have to die."

Neal's head was spinning, and he had to struggle to fully comprehend what Bancroft was saying.

After several minutes, Bancroft moved closer into Neal's face and said, "So, moving right along. This is what I know. You might as well save your precious breath and not argue."

Neal said nothing.

"I know you and that little bald man have the Nazi plunder. I know where it is being hidden. I know that you two have unsuccessfully been able to move it. I know that you are putting plans in place to leave with it and change your identities. I also know you didn't know that others were on to you. You're just not as good as you think."

Then Bancroft went in for the kill.

"I know that when it came to the rewards of that long con with Adler you initiated years ago with that little bald headed street con, you haven't given Peter Burke a second thought," Bancroft goaded.

Neal squinted and looked up with a confused expression on his face.

"Do I need to spell it out for you, Mr. Caffrey?"

Neal continued his silence but dropped his head to look at the cement floor.

"The Nazi spoils on that German U-Boat. You haven't thought twice about Burke or the FBI in regards to the plunder on that Nazi U-Boat, now have you?"

Neal's stomach clinched. He wanted to heave but was able to hold back.

"It's funny to me, Mr. Caffrey, that you thought twice when it was just Miss Moreau all alone on that airplane. You turned around then, didn't you? But Nazi plunder from a long con is an entirely different story, now isn't it Mr. Caffrey? This time you haven't given Agent Peter Burke even one thought. You haven't turned around this time, now have you?"

Neal felt stunned. Bancroft was right. He hadn't realized what he had done. Again, Neal stood silently, continuing to be propped up by Bancroft's associate.

"So now you have this choice, Mr. Caffrey. You can fence the jewelry, or I'll let my associate here stomp you so hard that you'll never get your breath. A horrible way to die…don't you agree?"

Neal didn't feel obliged to answer Bancroft's rhetorical question. He knew that if Bancroft was going to kill him, he would have probably already done so.

"Oh yeah, as a side note for you to mull over, you can easily go down for this heist, too. Your tracking data has been manipulated for the past 30 days. No one will believe you anyway. Your Agent Burke had doubts from the very beginning. He knows deep down you're just a criminal and a conman."

Neal continued to remain stoic.

"But, since I like you, Mr. Caffrey, It's still the plan that just Agent Burke will take the fall. You can get away from this clean…relatively speaking."

Neal continued to stand motionless and silent.

"And just so you know, if you decide to be a martyr, we'll still go forward with our car bombings. That just brings some extra excitement to some of my associates who haven't been able to rig a car in….well…at least a month or two. They're itching to hone their car bombing skills," Bancroft said, amused with himself as he saw Neal twitch a little.

As he stood, Neal contemplated the options put before him. Still, Peter would be detrimentally affected. There was no choice that would work out well for Peter. And, if Bancroft was true to his word as he said he was, he could walk away from this a free man. Neal would never admit out loud, but he didn't relish the thought of himself going down for the jewelry heist. He couldn't fathom the thought of spending more time with men in orange jumpsuits.

Then, a spark of confidence hit him. He and Peter had always figured out a way to the truth. When either of them had been framed in the past, they both worked together to clear one another's name and bring to light the real culprit.

"Okay," Neal confidently stated to Bancroft, "So let me get this straight. Option A is to fence the jewels and let Peter hang…in which case I get to walk away free and clear. Option B is to die…in which case you would also kill my friends in a car bomb that would leave their body parts smattered all over New York City."

Neal paused and waited for Bancroft to nod. After the nod, Neal continued.

"So let me ask you this."

"Yes," Bancroft asked.

"Is there an Option C," Neal smugly asked, smiling his million dollar Caffrey smile square into AD Bancroft's face.


	5. Chapter 5: Walk it Back

**Chapter Five: Walk it Back**

_Wednesday, October 12, 2011_

_11:22 p.m._

"Hon, come on to bed," Elizabeth said, leaning over behind her husband and hugging him from behind as he sat at their dining room table.

Neal's FBI tie pin still lay in the center of their table where he had left it the evening prior.

Peter barely glanced back at her so he wouldn't lose his place on Neal's 60 day tracking data from the Marshall's office.

"It just doesn't make sense," Peter maintained.

"I know," Elizabeth answered. "Perhaps it doesn't make sense because Neal may actually be innocent this time."

Peter nodded hesitantly, not believing that anyone other than Neal would—or, for that matter, actually could—manipulate data coming out of the Marshall's office. "But why would the signal say he is still in his apartment when clearly the anklet is nowhere there. It just doesn't make sense," Peter repeated.

"Okay," Elizabeth said as she moved to his side and sat down beside him at their table. "Tell me exactly how you see things. Let's start from the very beginning."

"Okay, well, to do that, I'll have to backtrack through the tracking data."

"Okay, hon, then let's just do that. I'm not tired. Go ahead. Walk it back," Elizabeth calmly stated.

"Well, when I went to Neal's apartment this afternoon, he wasn't there even though the tracking signal showed that he was there. The suit he was wearing yesterday had been discarded and lay on his bed. His bed was still made, and his gym bag was missing. Maybe he somehow got out of his anklet and has hidden it somewhere so good that none of us could find it. That's entirely possible knowing Caffrey."

Elizabeth answered, "You know him, hon. He wouldn't do that. Remember, he turned around once for you. If it looks like he went to the gym, then he went to the gym and someone is doing something to manipulate his tracking data."

Peter shook his head. It was somewhat easier for him to believe that an ex-con would manipulate his whereabouts than for law enforcement to do something so heinous. "Something just doesn't feel right."

"Go with your gut, Agent Peter Burke," Elizabeth affirmed.

"Yes, ma'am, Mrs. Burke," Peter said, kissing his wife on her forehead.

Peter then flipped the pages back to the beginning of the 60 days worth of data. Nothing was out of the ordinary for the first five weeks. Then, Peter noticed, Neal seemed to have frequented the family home where the jewelry was taken on several occasions prior to the robbery. The data put him there exactly three times and then at the home the night of the robbery.

"It doesn't look good for him, El," Peter said.

Elizabeth nodded, "Keep going."

"He seems to be quite active after the theft, but he never left his two-mile radius," Peter stated.

"Okay, but look right here," Elizabeth said running her index finger up the paper."

"What," Peter asked.

"The data doesn't show that he was here for his birthday dinner yesterday evening. Look, it just shows that he went home after work. We both know that isn't right."

Peter looked closely at the paper, picking it up off the table to bring it closer to his face. "Oh my God, El, what does this mean?"

"You know what this means," Elizabeth flatly responded.

Peter looked up at her, squinting his eyes.

"The data doesn't show that he was here, Hon. Whoever is behind this obviously didn't know that he came here," Elizabeth excitedly answered.

"What does this mean," Peter repeated.

"It means someone has set up Neal to take the fall for the jewelry heist," Elizabeth confidently stated.

"Yes…and that whoever this is has to be high up the ranks," Peter said as stared at Elizabeth directly in her eyes.

"Oh, Hon," Elizabeth answered.

Peter interrupted, "This is not good. Neal's in serious trouble this time...I need to find him fast! Too much time has already passed. He's in serious trouble, El."

Elizabeth rubbed small circular patterns on Peter's back in an effort to relieve his obvious tension.

"I don't know what to do. I have no idea where to turn on this one, El. Who can I go to," Peter asked with distress in his voice.

"Hon, you know who can help you. You just have to seek him out. You just have to ask him. I have his number."

"Oh, no. I'm not asking Mozzie. No way!"

"He can help," Elizabeth reassured.

Peter contemplated for several moments.

"You just have to contact him. Ask for his help in finding Neal. He'll know the word on the street."

"Okay, first thing in the morning," Peter answered.

"First thing in the morning," Elizabeth replied, tapping Peter on his nose.

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_Friday, October 14, 2011_

_4:25 p.m._

It wasn't until late Friday afternoon that Peter was finally able to track Mozzie down. Their conversation proved to be equally as challenging and frustrating for Peter as they always had been in the past. Neal had last been seen almost three days prior, and Peter was beginning to greatly worry about his safety and well-being. If someone had gone to so much trouble to manipulate his tracking data, then it was certainly within the realm of possibility that he was injured or dead…and neither of those possibilities was acceptable to Peter Burke.

"I'm not answering your puzzle, not speaking in haiku, and I'm certainly not going to walk around in circles to follow some ridiculous invisible path," Peter yelled, much louder than he had expected.

Mozzie, while quite eccentric and boarder lining on neurotic, recognized Peter's worry and decided to try and cooperate to the best of his capability. He had, however, felt guilty for being a Judas last year and calling Peter when he discovered Neal had a gun and was going after Fowler. Even though Neal had reassured Mozzie that he had done the right thing, Mozzie continued to feel guilty for betraying his friend.

"Mozzie, I just need to know if you know something. When was the last time you saw or talked to Neal?"

"I cannot betray my friend again, Suit," Mozzie answered.

Peter became exasperated and began walking away. He then turned around and said, "You know, if you know something and Neal is in trouble, then you might be the one who's putting the bullet in him. You think about that…okay Mozzie? You think about that. If you know something, you owe it to Neal to tell me."

"Owing Neal by betraying him? Hmm, that's an interesting concept, Suit. I've borrowed nothing. I owe nothing. I was a Judas once…I shall not be a Judas again."

"Dammit Mozzie," Peter screamed. "You know something…don't you?"

"My knowledge base is vast and expansive," Mozzie answered, fidgeting with the pockets of his jacket.

"Vast and expansive are the same thing," Peter answered.

"Semantics," Mozzie answered.

Peter was ready to deck him good just to put society out of its misery for having to put up with such a peculiar little man. As he turned to walk back to his car from the bench at Central Park where Mozzie had instructed Peter to meet him, he heard Mozzie say, "Please tell Mrs. Suit that I look forward to our recipe exchange today at your home at 6 p.m. sharp."

"Whatever," Peter said as he huffed away.

When he reached his car, he called Elizabeth to tell her that meeting Mozzie was a complete waste of time. He was frustrated that Mozzie wouldn't consider his feelings in this situation. It was always about their stupid conman code that they continued to live by. Peter was angry that Mozzie couldn't see that Neal was quite possibly in danger and that Peter was trying to help.

Elizabeth tried to console her husband. She knew that he was very concerned at this point in time. There was no reason for Neal not to have contacted Peter by this time. She, too, worried that Neal was hurt or dead.

As they were about to close their conversation, Peter said, "Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Mozzie said he would see you at six for your recipe exchange."

"Recipe exchange? What recipe exchange? I have no idea what he's talking about," Elizabeth answered.

"That must be his way of telling me what he knows without actually having to tell me," Peter answered.

"Oh, well, that makes sense…knowing Mozzie."

"Just meet with him and exchange the damn recipes…so to speak. Call me when you're done, okay?"

"Will do. Try not to worry, okay hon? I think if Mozzie thought Neal were in serious peril, he would have told you…or at least he wouldn't be waiting until six—three days into Neal's disappearance," Elizabeth reassured.

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_Friday, October 14, 2011_

_6:00 p.m._

Promptly at 6 p.m., the doorbell of the Burke home rang. Mozzie shuffled into their home when Elizabeth opened the door and pleasantly greeted him.

"Why Mozzie, I hear you have come to exchange some recipes with me."

"Ah, yes, Mrs. Suit," Mozzie stammered. "That's correct. I have come to exchange chicken recipes with you. I like chicken. How about you, Mrs. Suit? Have you found any new chicken recipes lately?"

"Why no, Moz, I haven't. But I think you must…right?"

"Ah, yes, Mrs. Suit," Mozzie stammered.

"Okay...out with it Mozzie," Elizabeth ordered. "My husband's worried sick that something's wrong with Neal. What do you know?"

"Know? Do we ever really know…"

"Mozzie," Elizabeth shrieked, "You've got to come out with it! My husband's been patient with you."

"Word on the street is that Nick Halden is behind that jewelry heist…even though the street isn't always reliable. You can't trust them, Mrs. Suit," Mozzie defended.

"Mozzie, I don't understand. Where's Neal?"

"Word on the street is it's Nick Halden. I know…I know it's not Neal. Maybe someone impersonating him. It's not Neal. He doesn't need to pinch antique jewelry with a street value that's barely worth his time," Mozzie continued to stammer.

"Mozzie, I still don't understand."

"Nick Halden's operation is on Broadway near Time Square. I hear he likes to dine at Luchow's."

"Okay…well, okay…Mozzie. It's Nick Halden and he likes to dine at Luchow's. Thanks, Mozzie...for the new chicken recipe," Elizabeth said.

"My pleasure…Mrs. Suit...and good evening," Mozzie answered, bowing and tipping his hat to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth waited for Mozzie to scurry out of sight before she pulled her cell phone out of her bag and called Peter. Peter answered on the first ring, eagerly awaiting her call.

"Hon, I'm confused, but it may make sense to you. Mozzie said that the word on the street is that Neal…rather…Nick Halden…was behind the jewelry heist."

"Go on," Peter answered.

"But Mozzie is convinced that it's a set up because, as he said, the street value was barely worth Neal's time."

"Three and a half million is barely worth his time…hmmm…that's interesting," Peter replied.

"He thinks Neal has been set up. It makes sense since his tracking data has been toyed with…and we know that for sure," Elizabeth defended.

"Yes…we know that for sure," Peter sarcastically responded.

"But he also said that word on the street is that Nick Halden likes Luchow's. You know, Mozzie is usually a little ambiguous, but this time really takes the cake. What does Luchow's have to do with anything?"

"Luchow's closed in 1982 and then re-opened on Broadway but then closed again. I don't know what Mozzie's talking about…but I'll find out," Peter reassured.

"Okay, hon," Elizabeth exclaimed. "Please go find him. I don't think he's involved willingly."

"I'm beginning to wonder myself," Peter answered.

"Just bring him home safe and in one piece. And…you be careful, too! I want my husband in one piece, too!"

They both hung up their phones from one another. Their marriage, their partnership, was one built on love, mutual respect, friendship, and admiration. From the time Peter fell in love with Elizabeth, he no longer took foolish risks. So, he knew that if Neal were in trouble and was at this closed-down restaurant possibly against his will, then he needed some back-up. He also knew that he couldn't get official back-up without any hard evidence.

So, he decided he would head back to the office and retrieve Diana and Jones so they could take a drive to Broadway and grab a quick look at Luchow's_, _which had been shut down for over a year now. He wasn't sure who owned it or if anything was planning to go in in its place, but he thought one quick look around would possibly tell him what he would need to know. He just hoped that Neal—if involved willingly—would surrender to him without incident. And he worried that if Neal was there against his will that he was still alive and not hurt too badly. Either scenario, however, posed challenges for Peter.


	6. Chapter 6: Option C

**Chapter Six: Option C**

_Wednesday, October 12, 2011_

_8:20 p.m._

"An option C," Assistant Director Bancroft yelled as he exploded with anger. Typically not a man to physically accost another man, he struck Neal several times in his face and stomach. The man holding Neal continued to hold him up to receive the blows his boss was raining down on the young conman. Unconsciousness took over, and Neal's mind faded to darkness.

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_Thursday, October 13, 2011_

_6:50 a.m._

When he woke up, Neal had lost all track of time. He knew he had been abducted on a Tuesday evening, but he wasn't sure exactly what day it was at that moment. Neal slept periodically, and it felt like a lot of time had passed since Bancroft had enacted his physical beatings on him. The old walk-in freezer that was being used as his prison cell was dark all of the time, and Neal had no way of keeping up with time.

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_Thursday, October 13, 2011_

_10:13 p.m._

It was actually late Thursday evening before Bancroft came back to Luchow's and proceeded to the basement to have another chat with his young captive. He had never thought it would be that difficult to get Neal to cooperate. He hadn't realized the depth of Neal's allegiance to Peter. Bancroft was caught off guard because he truly believed the young conman would have been more easily swayed. He then realized that for Neal Caffrey to give in, the con had to be in the equation.

"Okay," Bancroft thought to himself. "If the con is what it takes, then the con it will be." Assistant Director Kyle Bancroft had rationalized that the Nazi treasure would render significantly more than he alone could ever expend. He didn't have to worry about Vincent Adler's cut any longer, so cutting Neal in to a small percentage would be acceptable.

Turning the latch of the lock, Bancroft stepped into Neal's cell where the conman sat propped up against the wall. His wrists were still tied together and tethered to a meat hook above. His ankles were also bound, affording the conman very little movement. Neal barely lifted his head to see who had entered his cell. Bancroft was used to his men standing upon his arrival but decided to let Neal slide considering he was fairly beaten-up and tethered by a meat hook to the wall.

Neal dropped his eyes when he saw who had entered.

"The least you could do is look at me," Bancroft said.

Neal continued to look at his hands.

"My head and hands hurt," he answered.

Bancroft made no indication that he had heard Neal.

"Option C. Okay, I have an Option C for you. You're lucky Mr. Caffrey. Ordinarily I would have just had you killed. But I like you. I think you have talents I can use."

"Option C? You have a third option for me," Neal asked in a raspy, sluggish voice.

"Yes. If you cooperate by fencing the jewelry and helping me plan my escape, I will give you two percent of the proceeds of the plunder. That's quite a lot of money. You can go on with your life as you so desire. But, I am hopeful you will join me in my operations. Together, we can be great…far greater than your so-called partnership with Agent Burke…and that little, overanxious bald man. Both are using you for their own personal gain. With me, you can be a true partner," Bancroft said.

"At two percent," Neal cynically asked.

"For starters."

Neal forced out a sarcastic laugh to let Bancroft know that he didn't think too much of his third option.

"I am a man of my word. I know you won't implicate me in the Nazi plunder because doing so would also implicate you. You could spend time for your role in it. You can guarantee that, Mr. Caffrey. So…. Hummm….I think I'm being more than generous."

"But Burke," Neal said, feeling desperate but trying to sound strong.

Bancroft cut him off, "A change in Agent Burke's fate is not included in Option C. His future was sealed long before today. Agent Burke will take the fall for the jewelry heist, Mr. Caffrey. It must go down that way to keep you and me me clean. Right now, as far as Burke is concerned, your only decision is whether or not he dies. That's it, Mr. Caffrey."

"Option C is still no good, Kyle," Neal sarcastically answered, his voice coming out sturdier than he had anticipated. "I won't let Peter take the fall for the jewelry heist."

AD Bancroft began showing his decrease in patience and increase in anger toward Neal. "You know, the man you're so determined to protect already believes you're guilty. In less than two hours after you had not shown up at the bureau, he was having his probationary agent pull your tracking data for the past 60 days," Bancroft laughed in Neal's face.

Neal felt disappointed in Peter at how quickly he showed distrust in him. He knew Peter was right to not fully trust in him, but it still stung.

"The tracking data Agent Burke has right now shows you at the home. So far he hasn't done anything with that information…hasn't even taken it to Hughes. He's rallied together his agents to find you so you can hang for this, Mr. Caffrey. Looks like Agent Burke can't…or shall I say…won't…help you. I think you overestimate your relationship with Agent Burke," Bancroft gloated.

Neal's faith began faltering.

"But, just remember this. As easily as I manipulated your tracking data to show that you were at the home before and during the robberies, I was just as easily able to produce evidence that clearly implicates Agent Burke…and Agent Burke alone. I don't want to see a man with as many skill sets as you waste away in prison. But if you're too stupid and decide to bite my hand, then so be it. But, regardless Burke will go down for this. So, your choice when it comes down to you is what you want to happen to you…death or freedom. It's not really that big of a decision to make," Bancroft said calmly and directly to Neal, never taking his eyes away from Neal's eyes.

"Why does it have to be Peter," Neal pleaded.

"Do I see your arrogance beginning to wane?"

Bancroft's words were like a shot in the arm to Neal. "No, Kyle, it isn't. My confidence lies in the fact that I am just as interconnected as you are. At the nod of my head, I can be out of here with all of the Nazi plunder, leaving you and your asshole Rambo's out there with nothing but the dust of my memory."

"You're quite a cocky son of a bitch for someone who's been shackled to a meat hook for…umm...49 hours now," Bancroft said glancing down at his watch.

Neal could feel every minute of each of the 49 hours in his slightly concussed head, aching ribs, bruised arms and legs, and dehydrated body.

Bancroft continued, "So, where is your Agent Burke right now? How about that little bald man? Hmm, looks like they have no idea where you are. Oh yeah, that's right. Agent Burke is right now setting the trap to bust you for the jewelry heist."

"I think you're full of shit," Neal laughed. He hurt from the beating Bancroft had given him, and he was dizzy and disoriented from hunger and thirst. But, he was trying desperately to play the role of a confidence man.

By the time Neal had barely completed his sentence, Bancroft had ordered his two associates into the freezer. "You know what to do to make my young friend here see it my way," Bancroft ordered.

Neal knew what that meant. He wasn't sure how much more he could take and how much longer he could hang on. His confidence in Peter being able to find him was beginning to diminish.

Bancroft left the basement of Luchow's Restaurant and headed back upstairs. He listened to Neal's screams of pain and wondered how long before the young conman would break and plea for them to stop. He continued to hear the kicks and hits, but eventually Neal became quiet. Bancroft marveled at how strong Neal was. He had respected the conman and his work for quite some time. Only someone as smart and talented would ever consider going after Vincent Adler. In time, Bancroft believed, he could break Neal and convince him to join him in the powerful operation he was establishing outside of the law using the inner workings of the law. He laughed at himself when he remembered their trip to the White Bored exhibit and how excited Neal was. Then it dawned on him: _To beat down Neal Caffrey, I have to go after his brain._

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_Friday, October 14, 2011_

_6:13 a.m._

Before daybreak the next morning, Bancroft arrived at the restaurant and proceeded downstairs. He carried with him a reusable grocery bag with items halfway filling it up. It was still dark all around, and two of Bancroft's associates sat at the table near the walk-in freezer playing poker and smoking cigars.

Bancroft nodded at both men and told them to keep their seats. He inquired how their prisoner was doing. One of the men answered that he had been quiet all night.

Bancroft unlocked the freezer door and pulled the chain of the light switch, which forced 45 watts of light on a chain to swing over Neal's sleeping body in the corner of the old freezer. He looked a lot younger than Bancroft remembered. Dried blood was on his face and clothes. His arms and face were mottled with red and blue marks. Bancroft had left specific instructions for him to be roughed up, but nothing so serious that he wouldn't be able to eventually participate in their operation.

"Mr. Caffrey," AD Bancroft said loudly, pushing the toe of his shoe into Neal's kneecap to try and rouse him.

Neal jumped awake and flung his tethered hands in front of his face. He squinted against the glare of the light bulb.

Kneeling down toward Neal, Bancroft began removing items from the bag he had brought with him. Pulling out a moistened towelette, he began wiping the dried blood off Neal's face.

Neal flinched with each swipe across his cheek. His eyes became visibly larger when the realization sunk in that FBI Assistant Director Kyle Bancroft, who was the mastermind behind what will most likely be the world's biggest con and who was definitely responsible for Neal's battered condition, was washing the dried blood off his face. He was too tired, too sore, too hungry, too thirsty—so incredibly thirsty—to say anything Neal Caffreylike. He just lay there absolutely paralyzed.

"You know, I've done you a favor," Bancroft finally spoke. "I know you had to have been torn between the Nazi plunder and your life with Agent Burke. Removing those ill-gotten gains out of the equation will certainly make it easier for you. I have been fair to you, Mr. Caffrey. All I'm asking is for you to help me finance my trip. I have even generously offered you two percent of the plunder. You would be crazy not to accept such a generous offer."

Neal felt so incredibly sick. It took effort on his part to remember that Bancroft was indeed the mastermind. His mind wasn't thinking straight any longer. He needed food and water so desperately.

Bancroft pulled out a small vial of liquid and poured it on Neal's lips and into his mouth. The liquid was bitter, but Neal swallowed it anyway. Within moments, Neal vomited the yellow liquid up onto the cement floor of his prison cell.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Caffrey. I thought that vitamin boost would be good for you. Guess your system is too run down to accept it. You're not looking good, Mr. Caffrey. You need to save yourself. You know how you can save yourself, right?"

Neal squinted up at AD Bancroft and closed his lids against the intruding light which stung and burned his eyes.

"Ahhh, I see. You're just like Gregor. You're quite the Gregor Samsa, now aren't you," Bancroft teased. He then got up and left Neal's prison, patting him on his bruised shoulder and telling the battered and weakened Neal Caffrey that he would see him soon…and soon he would break.

Neal laughed when he remembered that Mozzie had told him from the very beginning that he needed to read more. That was one piece of advice from Mozzie that Neal was glad he had taken.

So, even in Neal's weakened and disoriented state of mind, he knew the Kafka reference immediately. He found the irony amusing— even in his present condition.


	7. Chapter 7: The Metamorphosis

**Chapter Seven: The Metamorphosis**

_Friday, October 14, 2011_

_7:12 p.m._

It was an hour past sunset Friday evening before Bancroft returned to Luchow's where his stubborn and battered prisoner was being held. He was confident that the dehydration and pain would be severe enough that Neal would be ready to break.

Arriving at Luchow's and going immediately downstairs, Bancroft slid the rusted lock and opened the door of the old unused freezer where Neal slept fitfully in the corner. He had wiggled enough slack that his hands were in his lap—still bound together. His clothing was dirty and torn and covered in spots of dried blood. His face looked bruised and was streaked with smudges of dried blood that Bancroft had not wiped off previously. In the crack of the light that pushed through the opening in the door, Bancroft could see Neal stirring a little. He felt a little sympathy for the young man. He surely never expected Neal to be so loyal to Peter and so strong to withstand three days in captivity. Bancroft believed that once he broke the young man, he could create the best partner he had ever had in all of his years playing a dual role as a master criminal and FBI agent. He was banking on it—literally. Adler was smart and industrious, but he was also greedy and a liability. Neal, on the other hand, was young enough to continue his training to be one of the best criminals in the world.

So, Bancroft had just spent some additional time devising a new strategy to try and break Neal Caffrey. Kneeling down beside him, Bancroft shook his shoulder.

Neal stirred, opening his eyes half-way and looking around the room without lifting his head. His facial expression showed that his shoulder was hurting, so Bancroft stopped shaking him.

"The life you think you have with Agent Burke and the FBI is absurd," Bancroft derided.

Neal was too tired and in too much pain to answer or even acknowledge Bancroft's words. Neal's disregard of him made Bancroft call one of his goons into Neal's cell for assistance to hold Neal up on his feet. Being on his feet, Bancroft thought, would surely force him to pay attention.

"You surely must feel alienated from him now that you have all that Nazi plunder. How could you possibly have a forthright life with him since you're hiding something so massive from him? How could he ever fully trust you when he finds out you scammed the results of the test on the remnant of the Chrysler Building?" Bancroft paused, "...which, by the way, I know was yours."

Neal said nothing.

Bancroft laughed, "How could you possibly ever trust him knowing that he's running tests on remnants of artwork that he automatically suspected was yours?"

Neal became confused. He moved his half-open eyes to look directly at Bancroft. His lips were dry and cracked, and he was too dizzy and sick and in pain to do much more.

"I know your relationship with Agent Burke is tenuous at best, but can't you imagine how antagonistic it will become as a result of your inability to be honest with the man you claim to trust above all others?"

Neal's confusion elevated. How could Bancroft possibly know this much about his relationship with Peter?

"If you choose this life, you will ultimately—as a consequence of your disloyalty to him—have the unfulfilled desire to escape from that absurd and entrapped existence you will feel even greater at the FBI."

Neal could not process what Bancroft was trying to say to him. He heard _unfulfilled_, _absurd_, and _entrapped_. What was Bancroft saying? Did Bancroft know that during the two and a half years he had spent working with Peter that he often felt trapped and confused? How could he possibly know that?

"That life is not your life. I know you know that. You're not fooling anyone," Bancroft continued.

Neal felt emotion welling up in him. He remained still and quiet, dropping his eyes down to the floor. Now that they were not elevated by being tethered by that cable to the meat hook above, his hands and arms weren't hurting as badly.

Bancroft continued stabbing, "Your disloyalty will mean that you can never truly be a part of the FBI family…or the Burke family."

That statement hit Neal hard in the gut, and he gasped for air.

"In case you have forgotten, he doesn't trust you. Don't you remember that he got his wife to test the remnant? She's involved, too, and is probably mad that you have deceived her husband. Your relationship with Agent Burke has been a sham all along. It's all your fault. He wanted to trust you, but you screwed that up, didn't you?"

Neal opened his mouth to try to defend the relationship he had spent several years building. But Bancroft interjected too quickly, "He's been using you all along. Don't forget that I'm privy to information that you're not. Agent Burke is too good of a law man to allow the likes of you to be his partner— much less his friend."

Bancroft's words were beginning to resound in Neal's head. Could Peter have possibly been using him all along? Maybe everything they had gone through together was a fraud.

Then Neal's mind flashed to Peter willingly getting into Adler's car to come with him. He didn't have to come. He certainly didn't have to help Neal get through the German traps to get into the U-Boat.

"That's not true," Neal murmured, squirming against the large goon holding him up from underneath his arms.

"It is," Bancroft yelled down into Neal's face. "You're the one who caused the lack of trust. He wanted to trust you, but you kept screwing up. Think about it. You were the one who strained the relationship with Agent Burke. You were the one who was not a true partner."

Neal said nothing. He felt even more confused. Maybe Bancroft was right.

"Think about everything he has done for you during these past few years. You threw all that away when you joined your little bald friend to skip the country with the Nazi plunder. Did it not occur to you how Agent Burke would feel about you when he realized you had been deceiving him for so long? Imagine how he will feel when you actually do skip out on him?"

Neal looked at his tethered hands, saying nothing.

"It was the same for Vincent," Bancroft stated. "He gave you the opportunity to join him. We thought you would. But your allegiance to that little bald headed street con—or was it just the con itself—was too great for you to break back then, right Mr. Caffrey? You can change all that now."

Neal pulled his eyes back up to look directly at Bancroft. "I've helped him close cases. He is way above the FBI average because of me."

"Yes, but do you honestly think that the emotional pull has been worth it to him personally? He gave up on you early on when he realized you would never change. He's been using you like your father did…like the little bald man did…and Kate and Alex. And certainly like Vincent did. They've all been using you. It's always been what others could get from you. None of them has ever cared about you…not even that pretty little insurance investigator. Hell, she used you the worst of all and you're too stupid to see that," Bancroft laughed.

Neal remained quiet. He was beginning to doubt every relationship he had ever had in his entire life. Maybe each of them had been using him for something or another. His father, a dirty cop, had taught him the trade to elevate his own financial gains. Mozzie had traded up his old street partner for a smarter and more sophisticated one in Neal. Alex had used him to find the German U-Boat full of Nazi treasures her grandfather had told her about. He thought Kate had loved him, but she stayed with him because Adler had robbed them clean and she needed Neal to show her how to survive on the streets.

And then came Peter.

Peter agreed that Neal could be his criminal consultant but reminded him at every juncture in the road that he could—and would—send him back to prison if Neal didn't walk the line. Since Neal was walking that crooked line toward the Nazi plunder, he knew his time with Peter would soon come to an end. He would have to escape this life before Peter caught up with his scheme. Neal knew that Peter was intelligent and could possibly catch up to him—if he hadn't already. That is what scared him. Peter was good.

Neal's thoughts were interrupted by Bancroft, "Your best choice is option C. All you need to do is fence the jewels. Peter Burke will be our patsy. You'll get two percent of the Nazi plunder. It will solve your little problem, too, because you can guarantee that Peter Burke has been on to you. He knows what you've been up to, and it's only a matter of time before he closes in on you. Do you understand what I'm saying, Mr. Caffrey?"

Neal stared at Bancroft without saying a word or making a single move.

"If you don't hurry up with your decision, then you'll be dead and Agent Burke will hang for the theft anyway."

"Peter," Neal screamed as loudly as he could.

Bancroft became angry at his blatant defiance. "He's already given up on you— you stupid son of a bitch," he said smacking Neal across the face. Bancroft instructed the guard to let go of Neal, and he watched Neal slump down the wall.

"What day is it," Neal hoarsely asked Bancroft after he was all of the way down on the floor.

"What difference does it make? I'll return in the morning to get your decision," Bancroft insolently responded. He stood and retreated out the door with the metallic screeching of the lock being slid into place, leaving Neal in the darkness of his prison cell.

It made a difference to Neal what day it was. He knew he could withstand dehydration and hunger for three to four days—had already endured such treatment in his youth. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hang on. His brain wasn't working right; he could feel the fuzziness. His entire body ached. He thought he could hang on awhile longer, but he just wasn't sure how much more he could endure. He didn't want to die, but he also didn't want Peter and Elizabeth to die. If Peter were to live, then he would lose his good name. A tarnished name would not be life for Peter Burke…or for Elizabeth who built her event planning business around the Burke name.

"Oh, God, what do I do," Neal prayed silently. He wanted to cry, but there were no tears in his dehydrated body to escape through his eyes. Several minutes later, he put his head back and drifted into unconsciousness.

His dreams were vivid and centered around Peter and Elizabeth. He remembered dinners with them, the ice pack on his head after he had been drugged, evening stake outs with Peter and his deviled ham sandwiches, Peter's pats on his back as he would remind Neal that people could change, Peter holding him on the runway after Kate's plane had blown up, and Peter getting his attention away from Fowler when Neal held a gun pointed directly at Fowler. There were so many instances that Peter and Elizabeth were right there with him in his life. They had even bought him a birthday gift this year. He had never had a birthday present in his life. Some of the worst memories he held of his childhood centered around his birthday. As he grew up, he learned to despise that day.

But Peter and Elizabeth didn't know how he felt about his birthday. Certainly they didn't know how uncomfortable it would make him feel. He had run away from them, and now he wouldn't be able to explain to them what had happened. They would never understand why he had left their home so abruptly the evening of his birthday. How could he possibly explain it to them? It was hard for him to think about-much less talk about.

"Peter," Neal voiced aloud in his sleep, "Please help me."

The guards outside of the freezer playing cards heard him speak but could not make out his words. They didn't give it much thought. "Probably hallucinating," one said to the other as he threw down his royal flush onto the small wooden table where they sat.

"Deal again," the other said, handing the deck of cards to the first guard.

Neal awoke. His restless dreams came barreling into his conscious mind. He couldn't ascertain where he was at the moment. At first he thought he was back in prison. It used to be dark like that in prison.

Then he smelled the stale air of the freezer and felt his wrists and ankles bound together, and he remembered where he was.

He became angry with himself that he had so quickly and easily given up his life with Elizabeth and Peter and the FBI to continue to live his life as a conman with Mozzie. "Oh my God," he cried, "I chose the con over the only two people in my life who treat me like family."

Fighting against the chains, he desperately fought to find strength to wriggle out of the locks. The double enforced locks wouldn't budge in his fatigued and injured state.

"Stop it, you dumbass little son of a bitch," he heard one of the guards outside scream as something smashed against the outside wall of the freezer and made a loud enough crash to startle Neal.

"Peter," Neal yelled again as loudly as he could. He heard a loud thump again and realized that the guards were probably kicking the door.

"Peter, please help me," he managed to scream again.

Several minutes later he heard the lock squeak open. The two guards stood in the open doorway. "That's right," Neal thought to himself, "Come and get me."

"Get him and I'll get the bucket," one guard said to the other.

Neal had no idea what they were talking about. Within minutes his head was being emerged in a bucket of cold, dirty water. He sucked at the water and drank in several large gulps. His lungs were empty, and within the next minute or two he dreaded yelling out to Peter into the empty freezer. All he wanted was for the men to come in after him so he could wriggle out of his chains. He hadn't anticipated the bucket of dirty ice water. He was hoping that Bancroft had not ordered his death because he thought he had at least until the morning to give Bancroft the answer. He reasoned that what they were doing was on their own and not a part of Bancroft's master plan. So, killing him was probably not on their "To-Do" List for the night.

Neal coughed and spit as his head was pulled from the bucket. Within a few seconds, his head was being thrust back down into the water. He hadn't had time to reason to himself not to breathe in, so he accidently inhaled the water through his nose. The dirty ice water crept like a serpent into his lungs. He had desperately craved water for the past three days, and now he was being drowned by two goons who spent much of their lives smoking cigars, playing poker, and guarding an abandoned freezer so a young conman turned criminal consultant could be broken by a crooked Assistant Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Neal shivered with cold. The freezing water ran down his face and the back of his head onto his chest and back, soaking his shirt onto his bruised and battered flesh. Oddly, the water felt good. It tasted horrible, but he so desperately needed water to begin hydrating his weakened body. Two more emersions into the water and then they were done. They threw him back down into the corner and emptied the water on top of him. He shivered and coughed.

"Do you want more, you stupid asshole," one goon yelled.

Neal remained quiet with closed eyes. He wanted—needed—to cough, but he wanted the men to think he had passed out. So, he lay there quietly.

A loud noise upstairs startled all three of them, but Neal lay as still as possible.

"What the hell is Boss doing now," one guard asked the other.

"How the hell should I know," the other answered.

"Come on, let's get back to our game," the first one said.

Neal could hear the lock squeak closed. He felt helpless. Why hadn't anyone come to help him? Had Peter given up? Did Peter think that he had fled the country? Where was Mozzie? What choice should he make...Peter's life over his name? What would happen to Elizabeth?

He felt like a child trapped on a merry-go-round. He wanted to cry. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to die.

He shivered in the dark corner of the freezer. Maybe he could close his eyes and not have to wake up in this hell hole again.

He chuckled at himself when he recalled what Gregor Samsa chose in the end. He had always liked _The Metamorphosis _because he believed Kafka was accurate in his portrayal of the family. He had never really thought of himself as being like Gregor Samsa until that moment.

Wasn't that what Bancroft had called him? Was that purely coincidental? Neal was so confused, but fatigue took over. He wondered if, like Gregor, it would be better for him to lie down and die. Had Bancroft broken him?

He knew what he needed to do. He became calm and allowed nothingness to take over his mind. Just as he began to feel nothing—no cold, no pain, no thirst, no hunger—he heard another loud crash. He snapped awake and wondered why the guards were throwing something else against his prison wall. He hadn't remembered yelling or saying anything else out loud.

He started drifting back into unconsciousness when he could hear voices outside the freezer. In his semiconscious state, he thought he heard Agent Peter Burke yelling.

"We know he's here," the voice that sounded like Peter muffled through the door.

"Oh my God, Peter," Neal muttered as loudly as he could, "I'm here. Please help me."


	8. Chapter 8: Coat of Arms

**Chapter Eight: Coat of Arms**

_Friday, October 14, 2011_

_7:29 p.m._

"Okay, Diana, this is the place. Jones…Diana, let's go around to the back and see if anything looks out of the ordinary," Peter instructed his two agents.

"Okay," Diana said.

"Anything looks at all suspicious, then we can call for back-up, okay Diana," Peter said.

"Got it, Boss," Diana answered.

They sneaked around to the back of the restaurant. Peter slipped his little back case of tools out of his jacket and began picking the lock. After several minutes, they could hear the lock open. The three agents skulked into the closed-down restaurant that used to be called Luchow's.

"Peter," Jones said holding out his arm to stop Peter and Diana. "Listen, I can hear voices. I could have sworn I heard your name, Peter."

They all stopped and stood still for several moments.

"I hear something, too," Diana said.

The three agents crept quietly toward the voices. "Stop it, you dumbass little son of a bitch" clambered through the notorious abandoned building. Then they heard a smashing noise. Peter's heart jumped. Diana grabbed his arm.

"Let's continue to sneak in quietly. We don't know how many are in there. If they do have Caffrey against his will, then it won't be pretty, okay Boss," Diana reasoned.

"You're right," Peter answered. They continued tiptoeing through the building, following the voices.

"Peter, please help me" could be heard by the three agents as it edged its way upstairs to where they were.

"They're downstairs. It's not my imagination. I know I heard my name this time. It's Neal. He's here," Peter implored. They continued creeping through the main level until they saw the stairwell they believed would lead them to the downstairs from where the voices were emitting. "They must be down there," Peter whispered to Diana and Jones as he pointed to the stairwell across the pitch black room.

As they crept toward the stairwell, they could hear more distinctly the voices that were downstairs. The next voice hollered out, "Do you want more, you stupid asshole?" Then chocking noises followed.

"Oh my God," Diana mouthed to Peter and Jones.

"We need to get down there now," Peter anxiously stated to them both. As he turned, he knocked over a small table that sat near the stairwell. They all three froze and held their breath.

Nothing happened. No one downstairs seemed to be alarmed at the noise, which meant it was possible for someone to be on the main level where they were. They all three went into hypersensitivity. Quickly, and as quietly as they could, they descended the steps and saw two large men taking their places at a table where playing cards were face down and strewn about the table. Piles of coins and a torn bag of Lays Potato Chips lay in the center of the table amongst the cards and coins. Cigars, still emitting smoke from their tips, sat propped up against a rose-colored carnival-glass ashtray.

"Hands up," Agent Peter Burke yelled directly at the men, pointing his service weapon directly into the chest of the guard closer to him.

"What the hell," the other guard shouted.

"Hands up. We have you surrounded. There's no way out," Jones shouted, hoping the men would not call his bluff. They weren't surrounded, but it was three against two, so the odds were still in their favor.

"Where is he," Peter yelled directly at them.

Neither said a word.

"Diana, Jones…cuff 'em," Peter instructed. "We know he's here."

While Diana and Jones threw the two goons on the floor, frisked them, and then fitted them with handcuffs, Peter could hear a muted voice coming from what looked like used to be the restaurant's walk-in freezer.

"Please...help...me," Neal shouted as loudly as he could, hoping that he was not hallucinating and that he was actually hearing Agent Peter Burke outside his prison cell coming to take him home.

Peter recognized the voice. It was Neal. Peter slid the lock open to expose the darkness of the old freezer. Fumbling around, he found the swinging light bulb and pulled the chain. Dim lighting came on to reveal a battered Neal Caffrey chained up and cabled to a hook above. Peter's heart dropped. It was one of the worst sights he had seen in a very long time.

"Neal," he spoke softly. "What has happened to you?"

He saw Neal struggling to open his eyes. His lips were shivering from something wet all over him, and he began coughing uncontrollably. Going to Neal's side, Peter began trying to get the chains and cables off him. He was fumbling more than anything, and nothing would budge. He then felt Neal's cold hands on his arm, "I am...not...Gregor. I did not...break. I do...not...want to die."

Peter was confused but figured that Neal was delusional. He then radioed for Diana to call for back-up to take the goons to jail and to come and help him as soon as she could. She called for back-up and then called 911 to get an ambulance there as soon as possible.

"Pe..t…er," Neal shivered, "You…and Eliz…a…beth are… like my family. I'm sor…ry."

"Shhh, try not to talk," Peter answered. He was greatly alarmed by Neal's physical appearance. He then saw Neal shivering and coughing and removed his FBI jacket to put around him to try and warm him up. Neal closed his eyes and passed out, resting his head against Peter's arm.

Peter again grabbed his walkie-talkie and yelled into it, "I need help down here!"

The loudness of his voice caused Neal to stir and attempt to open his eyes.

"Sorry," Peter whispered. "Go back to sleep."

Jones told Diana to go and help Peter while he stayed at their vehicle with the goons. Diana ran down to the basement to where Peter was.

"Help me get these chains off him. I can't get them off."

Diana ran to the trunk of Peter's car and removed a tool box. Running back downstairs with the box, though, she realized that the goons had to have a key. She took Peter the toolbox and told him she would be right back.

Peter began sawing away at the metal chains, making very little—if any—progress toward freeing his young partner. Diana came forward again with the key. "How much longer on the ambulance," Peter asked.

"About ten more minutes," she answered as she helped him unlock the chains and cable that was connected to the meat hook above.

After they removed the chains off Neal, Peter began checking him over. "He's in serious condition. Go back upstairs and direct the EMTs to where we are." Diana did as she was told.

"Pe…ter," Neal chattered, "I'm not…Gregor…Samsa. I…don't…wan…na…die."

"I know who you are. It's okay." Peter sat down beside Neal and pulled the jacket up closer toward his chin. "Try and relax so you won't cough so much."

"I'm…sor…ry…I…tried…to…deceive…you."

"Shhhh," Peter answered.

"No…I'm…sor…ry…for…leav…ing…your…home…. I'm…so…sorry."

"You're injured and sick right now. Please try not to talk," Peter answered.

"So…cold," Neal coughed.

Peter pulled him in closer but stopped when he saw Neal's face grimace in pain.

"Pe…ter, it's…Ban…croft…who's…be…hind…every…thing," Neal whispered as he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his chest.

"What did he say, Boss," Diana asked as she came up behind Peter.

"He's delirious," Peter answered.

"No, Di…an…a…please…lis…ten….Ban…croft…was be…hind…the…jewel…ry…heist," Neal begged.

"Okay, Neal," Diana answered patronizingly. "We'll check it out. You rest now."

Jones came down the steps and said that he could hear the rescue squad sirens in the distance. "Hang on, Neal. They're almost here," Jones reassured.

Neal acknowledged Jones by opening up his eyes mid-way and forcing a half smile. He continued to shiver and cough.

"Gather as much evidence as you can. Get the boys out here to dust for finger prints. Don't leave any stones unturned," Peter barked.

"Do you really think Assistant Director Kyle Bancroft could possibly be behind this," Diana asked.

"Just make sure you don't leave any stones unturned," Peter repeated.

Peter Burke was a loyal FBI Agent. He wanted to get to the bottom of this situation, and he wanted to believe his young partner. But it was difficult for him to know what to believe. Then the realization hit him: if AD Kyle Bancroft was behind this scam, then he was way over his head.

"Shit," Peter screamed as he glanced down on the floor and saw his battered partner shivering and coughing. Neal had no reason to lie...did he?

Several minutes later, the EMTs arrived and carefully lifted Neal onto a stretcher and carried him out to the waiting ambulance. Peter paused for a minute and looked around the prison cell where Neal had been kept for the past three days. It made him sick to his stomach to think about what his young partner must have gone through. He needed desperately to talk to Elizabeth.

"Are you coming, sir," he heard the female EMT call from the top of the stairs. "He's asking for you."

Peter snapped out of his daze and left the freezer. He ran up the stairs and followed the flashing lights to the ambulance. He then jumped into the back of the ambulance and sat with his back to the wall so he could face Neal. The EMTs were putting warming blankets on his body and an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. He tried lifting his hands to fight the mask going over his face, but one arm was restrained with a blood pressure cuff and the other with the EMT taking his pulse.

He meekly jerked his arm away from the EMT and removed the oxygen mask. "Peter, I don't…want…to have an…antagonistic…relationship…with you. I'm…sorry."

Peter looked down at Neal on the stretcher and smiled sympathetically at him. He then took the mask out of Neal's hand and put it back on his face to help his breathing. "We can talk later. You need to get well right now, okay? Just concentrate on getting better for right now, okay?"

Neal closed his eyes as they inserted the saline IV into his arm. His chest felt warm, and all he wanted to do was sleep. Peter was there, so he knew that when he awoke, he would be safe for the first time in several days.

Peter followed the stretcher into the hospital and relayed as much information as he could to the doctors and nurses treating Neal. He was anxious to get out of there to try and determine what the hell had happened during the past three days.

"Shit," he said again as he finally left the hospital three hours later as his young partner slept with tubes in his arms and the oxygen mask on his face. He was conflicted as to what to believe and what to do. He knew Elizabeth would talk him through the case.

He knew for a fact that Neal Caffrey had been through hell during the past three days. He had a mild concussion, had been beaten, was dehydrated, and was suffering the early effects of pneumonia from being nearly drowned in a bucket of dirty ice water.

"He's pretty tough, El, but what I don't understand is who Gregor is and why he keeps talking about Bancroft being behind the jewelry heist. It's like he's gotten a lot of things confused in his head, and they're all running together," Peter informed Elizabeth as they drove home.

"Maybe he's not confused. Maybe Bancroft is behind the heist," Elizabeth answered.

"It's unlikely."

"Probable, though," Elizabeth countered.

"Well, yes, anything's possible."

"I'm just saying you can't assume anything with Neal. He's a smart guy," Elizabeth answered.

"True," Peter said.

"And he's from _The_ _Metamorphosis_."

Peter looked inquisitively over at his wife, saying nothing.

"Gregor…he's the creature in Kafka's _The_ _Metamorphosis_."

"I still don't understand what that has to do with anything," Peter interjected.

"I don't know either, but it must have something to do with the case. It's important, hon. Trust Neal, okay?"

Peter kissed her after he put their car in park. They headed up the sidewalk of their home. "Right now he needs his rest and time to heal. I'll go see him tomorrow and see if he's better and up to talking."

"Okay, hon," Elizabeth said. "I have confidence that you'll get to the bottom of this."


	9. Chapter 9: That Void

**Chapter Nine: That Void**

_Saturday, October 15, 2011_

_9:25 a.m._

Neal lay asleep in the hospital bed as Peter entered the room. He pulled up a chair and sat close to Neal. The rhythmic sound of the heart monitor and periodic blood pressure beeping made Neal look a lot sicker than Peter had remembered. His face had been cleaned and bandaged where necessary. Peter thought he looked like a little boy, which made his mind wander and think about what Neal Caffrey had been like as a little boy. A nurse came in and explained that they were giving him antibiotics through his IV to minimize the effects of the pneumonia and that he was doing well. The doctor had even said that if he continued to bounce back so quickly that he could go home by Monday.

"Poor thing. Looks like he's been through a lot," the nurse said to Peter.

Peter nodded in agreement. He hadn't realized until that point the depth of his emotional attachment to Neal.

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_Saturday, October 15, 2011_

_12:08 p.m._

Around noon, Neal awoke with a cough coming from his chest and a choking sound coming from his throat. The heart monitor beeped louder. "Hey, take it easy," Peter said as he touched Neal's shoulder.

Neal reached up and removed his oxygen mask. "Did you find Bancroft," Neal adamantly asked.

"No," Peter answered.

Neal didn't need to ask why. He knew why they hadn't gone after Bancroft. Peter was a professional law man. He needed evidence.

He turned his head away for several minutes then turned back toward Peter. In usual Caffrey mode, he changed the subject. "I'm sorry I left your house the other night," Neal finally said, coughing up some phlegm.

"Hey, let's talk later," Peter answered.

Neal ignored, "I didn't think I would ever see you or Elizabeth again. Please, Peter, you have to believe me. Bancroft is behind everything. Please get your cars checked out for bombs. Even if you don't believe me about Bancroft, just get your cars checked out."

"Okay, I will," Peter assured.

Neal laid his head back against the pillow.

Peter knew that Neal would not be fingering Bancroft if he didn't honestly believe that Bancroft was the mastermind behind the job. He was concerned as to why Neal would think that Bancroft would put a bomb under his and Elizabeth's cars. Neal seemed rational, but just last night he was talking out of his head…wasn't he? He had suffered a great deal in his three-day imprisonment. That had to have affected him. Most normal people would have broken within a day. But Caffrey wasn't a normal person…was he? But he was beginning to sound like the old Caffrey. But how could he? The entire situation was so confusing. Something was missing. Caffrey wasn't telling everything he knew. It had to somehow be connected to the Nazi plunder.

But, he had worked with Neal Caffrey long enough to trust him when it counted. Elizabeth had taught him that.

"Peter, I know I must sound delirious to you, but I am thinking straight. Please, just check out Bancroft. He's behind the jewelry heist and my kidnapping. He said that if I didn't fence the jewelry that he would kill you and Elizabeth," Neal pleaded.

"Neal…you're talking about the Assistant Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation for the whole state of New York," Peter whispered in an agitated tone.

"I know," Neal answered.

"Your tracking data put you there," Peter added.

"I know…but it won't for long. Just wait and see. You'll be fingered for that crime," Neal responded. He could feel his head getting heavy from the medications they were routinely inserting through his saline IV pump. Within minutes, his eyes began growing heavy. He fought to keep them open so he could convince Peter that Bancroft was dirty.

Peter could see that Neal was growing sleepy but desperately needed some more answers. He was confused and angry at the whole situation and wasn't even sure that he could go to Reese with this one.

"Peter, please don't leave. I won't sleep long, I promise," Neal said as his eyes closed all of the way and he fell into sleep.

Peter wasn't sure what he should do. He wasn't very good at being idle when there was a huge case yet to be solved. Then on top of everything, his partner throws out the most distressing news any law professional man could ever hear: that their top leadership was dirty. Neal had asked him to stay, but for what reason? Was he afraid? Did he want to resume their conversation as soon as he awakened? He felt torn but decided to do what any partner would do for his partner: he sat back in the chair and decided to stay put until Neal woke up.

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_Saturday, October 15, 2011_

_2:13 p.m._

Neal awoke to the rhythmic sound of the machines connected to his body. He had dreamed again about Peter and Elizabeth. He felt alone and frightened.

When he turned his head, though, he saw his partner and father figure snoozing in the chair beside his bed. He remembered asking Peter to stay, but he wasn't sure if Peter would actually honor that request. He knew that Peter knew there was more to the story than he was telling. Why would Peter possibly stay? People had always put conditions on their love and care for him, and surely Peter had sufficient reason to abandon him now.

But there was Peter, snoozing in the uncomfortable pleather hospital chair beside him.

Neal thought about Peter and the time they had worked together and all of the cases they had solved. Peter often frustrated him, but he could trust Peter above all others with his life. His own father had never been in that category. Mozzie, his closest friend, wasn't even in that category.

A nurse came in to administer his medication. She took his blood pressure and temperature after she injected his antibiotics in his IV. "You have a low-grade fever, Mr. Caffrey," she said as she removed the digital thermometer from his ear and put her hand on his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

Neal smiled up at her, but his bruised face and half-open eyes gave him away.

"I'll get you some Ibuprofen for the fever, okay?"

Peter stirred awake and heard the nurse's comment about his fever. "How high is it," he asked.

"Just a little over 100. That's common with pneumonia, Agent Burke. He'll be okay," the nurse answered.

Peter became self-conscious that he may have looked like a mother hen. He hadn't realized until that point truly how frightened he was that he had lost his young partner. Even though Neal was an extra responsibility and stress on him, he had grown to depend on and care a great deal about Neal Caffrey.

"You okay," Peter asked Neal after the nurse left.

"Yeah, but I've been better. When can I go home?"

"Not sure, but I'm guessing with the fever you'll have to stay a little longer," Peter answered.

"Peter, I want to get out of here. It's not safe," Neal confessed.

"What do you mean?"

"Bancroft is powerful. He'll come after me," Neal answered.

"Neal, this is a public hospital full of people. Do you honestly believe the assistant director of the FBI would do that," Peter laughed. He then looked around to face Neal so they could laugh together at the ludicrousness of his words.

But Neal wasn't laughing…or even flashing that million dollar Caffrey smile. His face showed fright beneath the bruises and bandages.

Peter immediately stopped laughing. He realized that even if Neal were wrong about Bancroft, then he wasn't lying. He must have honestly believed that Bancroft was behind everything—as Neal would say.

Neal coughed and lay back in the bed sighing. "Why don't you believe me," he asked.

"It's not that I don't…" Peter starting saying but was interrupted by the nurse bringing a small cup of water and some Ibuprofen to reduce Neal's fever.

After Neal swallowed the caplets, he put his head back on the bed. The nurse adjusted his blankets and asked him if he needed anything else. Neal said he was fine.

When they were alone, Peter felt uncomfortable in the silence between them. They had worked together long enough that neither one felt compelled to fill the air, but right now Peter felt awkward. "So tell me something," Peter said.

Neal opened his eyes and looked at Peter.

"Why did you leave our house so quickly the other night? Do you have something against birthday dinners?"

Peter saw Neal's face drop.

Neal could feel a hot flush in his face that he knew was not because of a low-grade fever. He didn't know how to answer the question.

"Birthdays…I've never had a birthday celebration…or even a gift for that matter," Neal answered, surprised at his honesty. His words escaped his mouth before he was able to screen them.

"Why not," Peter asked. "Did your family not believe in birthdays?"

"My family life was pretty screwed up when I was a kid."

Neal stopped and turned his face toward the opposite wall.

Peter recognized that strategy as a precursor to a change in the subject. "Go on," Peter goaded.

"Come on, Peter. My family life has nothing to do with anything pertinent at hand."

"I think it does," Peter answered.

Neal breathed in. Several minutes of uncomfortable silence engulfed them.

"My dad was a dirty cop, and my mom left us when I was nine. He taught me how to be a con artist. By the time I was 12, I wanted to set out on my own. I thought I knew what was best for me…and he didn't do anything to stop me."

"Birthdays up to that point?"

"Well, as you can see, my family life was a little too dysfunctional to think about streamers and cake. My dad said I never deserved a birthday. Nothing was ever good enough for him."

Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The pleather cushions squealed out loud with a swooshing noise. The chair noise brought Neal's mind back to Peter.

"Like I said, Peter, my dysfunctional family has nothing to do with anything."

"I think it does," Peter repeated.

"How so?"

"Because you have a family right here who cares about you, and I don't think you know that. Elizabeth and I would be most upset if you ran off," Peter answered.

"But I didn't run off…I was kidnapped."

"I'm aware. I'm not talking about the other night," Peter said.

Neal said nothing in response. He knew it was wiser for him to stop talking right then before he said more than he meant to. His head felt woozy from the fever, and fatigue was beginning to take over again.

Peter reaffirms, "You have a family now. All you need to do is realize that and embrace us as your family."

"It's not that easy," Neal answered.

Peter squinted at him. Silence again over-powered the room.

Neal's head was swimming, and he felt confused again. Redirecting, Neal said, "Peter, I just need you to believe me that it was Bancroft behind the jewelry heist and my kidnapping."

"I just need time to think about that…okay? There's no direct evidence that we have been able to find. I just need time…."

"Just don't take too much time, okay Peter," Neal asked.

"Try and get some rest. You look like crap," Peter said.

"It's been a boring week," Neal sarcastically answered. He turned his head to the side and closed his eyes. Within several minutes, Peter could hear his raspy breathing.

A nurse came in to check on him and told Peter that his temperature was still a little above normal but that he would sleep for awhile because of the medication she had put in his IV earlier. Peter decided to go into the office to see if he could go through any of the evidence that was found at Luchow's. He needed something to tie Bancroft to Luchow's and Neal's kidnapping. Any evidence at all would at least give Peter a starting place.

Peter left the hospital still not knowing what to believe about Bancroft. He did, however, believe that Neal would be safe in a public hospital full of hovering nurses.

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_Saturday, October 15, 2011_

_6:09 p.m._

Neal was awakened to the smell of institutional food served on a cafeteria tray. When the lid was opened, he wanted to vomit from the smell. It reminded him of the occasion that he and Peter were on a stake-out and Peter brought out his deviled ham sandwich for the first time.

Then the realization hit him that Peter was no longer sitting in the chair by his bed. People usually left him, so he wasn't completely surprised. Peter's absence was all Neal needed to make him worry that Peter may not believe him that Bancroft was the mastermind of the jewelry heist. If Peter didn't believe him, then surely he would think that Neal was behind it. After all, he had a printout of Neal's tracking data that put him at the home the evening of the robbery. What would Bancroft now do about him…about Peter? This wasn't good. He needed Peter to believe him, and he didn't know what he needed to do to make that happen.

Neal pushed around some of the food on the tray to keep the nurses from fussing at him for not eating. He had gone that three day period without eating as well, and his weight had dropped some. He was hungry but was repulsed by the smell of the food.

He slept on and off like he had done while being held captive in the old freezer by Bancroft. He understood why Mozzie hadn't come in for a visit, and he knew Elizabeth had left that morning to go out of town for an event she had been planning. Sara had already broken things off with him, which hurt but didn't surprise him. He lay there alone. He felt alone.

His time in captivity had made Neal realize that what he actually felt for Sara was not love. He thought he was beginning to fall in love with her, but in actuality he was trying to find what was missing in his life. He was just then at that point in his life able to recognize what he was missing- what he had been looking for all of his life. Sara didn't fill that void. He was glad they had already parted because she didn't need to have this level of complication in her life.

He lay in the hospital bed contemplating his future and what Peter had said about family. But, where was Peter? Had he given up on him?

Before long sleep overtook Neal, and his conscious mind made way again for his subconscious.


	10. Chapter 10: Pin or Plunder

**Chapter Ten: Pin or Plunder**

_Saturday, October 15, 2011_

_12:31 a.m._

As Neal slept, he dreamed about his father. His subconscious brought back a childhood event when his father slapped his mother because she had made a birthday cake for her young son. His father had dumped the entire cake—plate and all—into the garbage. It was chocolate and had small plastic multi-colored clowns gingerly placed on top.

His mind flashed on images of his father roaring like a lion down into his face saying that only pussies had birthday parties. His father would strike him. The physical pain had been intense.

It was intense. It awakened him. Neal was glad to wake up so he could put the memories of his abusive father behind him once again. But the pain didn't stop.

His mouth hurt. His neck hurt. He was struggling to breathe. It was just a dream. What was happening?

Neal opened his eyes and saw Bancroft standing over him holding one hand over his mouth and the other hand over his throat.

"Nothing has changed," Bancroft whispered into Neal's left ear. "You still have a choice. Is it Option C?"

Bancroft's hands had a slight tremor. His clothing, while still a three piece suit, looked unkempt. But it was Bancroft's eyes that informed Neal that he had gone over the edge. His eyes looked crazed. They were splotched with jabs of red and jutted from side to side.

Neal was frightened. He had never seen Bancroft look this way before.

Then he thought about Peter, the model law man. As stealthily as possible, Neal reached up his hands and dug his nails into Bancroft's arm. He dug until he was confident that skin or flesh or blood would be lodged under his nails.

When Bancroft felt the pain of his flesh being torn, he grabbed Neal's throat even tighter. Neal lost his breath. The last thing he remembered seeing was Bancroft's crazed eyes. Soon darkness overtook Neal. Into the darkness he heard _option C_.

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_Saturday, October 15, 2011_

_2:15 a.m._

Neal was still unconscious when the night nurse made her rounds. At first she didn't see the bruising around his throat-just that the oxygen tubes had been removed out of Neal's nostrils. When she couldn't rouse him to take his vitals and temperature, she turned on the lights and realized that something sinister had happened. She checked to make sure that her young patient was still breathing, and—much to her relief—he was. She reinserted the oxygen tubes into his nose then paged Neal's doctor for an examination as she thumbed through his chart for the next of kin contact.

As the doctor and several medical students checked Neal over, the nurse went to the nurses' station so she could phone Neal's next of kin.

Peter Burke answered on the second ring.

On the first ring, Peter thought something had happened to Elizabeth because she was still out of town. As his mind awakened a little more, he remembered that Neal was in the hospital. He hadn't been in bed too long because he, Jones, and Diana had been examining every shred of evidence for some indication that Neal was telling the truth about Bancroft.

"I'll be right there," Peter told the nurse. He quickly hung up the phone and dressed and ran out the door to go to the hospital. Once he arrived, he ran directly to Neal's room. The doctor had completed his examination, but a nurse was with him continuing to monitor his vitals.

"He only lost consciousness. No part of his throat was damaged," the nurse said to Peter.

Peter looked down at Neal's throat and saw the bruising in the pattern of a hand print.

"Does anyone know what happened here," Peter asked.

"The only person who saw anything was the evening housekeeper. She said a well-dressed African American gentleman entered Mr. Caffrey's room around midnight."

"Can I get the housekeeper's name," Peter asked.

"Uh, yes, but we've already given the information to the police."

Peter realized that an assault case—and even attempted murder— was out of the jurisdiction of the White Collar division of the FBI. "Okay, thanks," he answered her.

Neal stirred as she put the thermometer in his ear. "Looks like your partner is waking up," she said to Peter.

Peter felt relieved and guilty and so incredibly torn. He should have been there to protect Neal, but he also needed to work on the evidence of the case to prove that Neal was telling the truth.

He patted Neal on his shoulder. "You better quit giving me a heart attack," he jokingly said to Neal.

"Hey Peter," Neal whispered. His voice, which had been raspy, now came out as a strained whisper.

"It was Bancroft, wasn't it," Peter asked.

Neal shook his head in the affirmative to avoid having to speak.

"We may be able to get him now. He was seen by the night housekeeper."

"I've got something even better," Neal whispered as he held up his hands.

Peter looked inquisitively at him.

"DNA," Neal answered.

"Oh my God," Peter yelled. "Do not move. I'm calling the evidence technicians."

"How do we know who we can trust," Neal whispered dejectedly.

"We don't," Peter replied with a disappointed tone in his voice. Neal was right. They didn't know who they could trust.

"Remember what Mulder always said," Neal uttered.

"Look at you knowing your FBI television pop culture."

Neal just stared at him. His exhausted-looking eyes disclosed a very frightened young man.

"Yes, he always said to trust no one," Peter answered.

"Yep," Neal responded as he shook his head up and down twice.

"Do you trust me? How about Diana and Jones? Don't you trust them?"

Neal paused for a lot longer than Peter had expected. Then he half-way smiled up at Peter but said nothing. After a few more minutes, he amenably responded, "Call 'em."

As they waited for Diana and Jones to arrive at the hospital in the middle the night, Peter decided to press Neal for details that would help him fill in some blanks.

"So, why do you think someone on Bancroft's level would risk so much for so little?"

Neal looked blankly at Peter. His eyes blinked more than normal.

Peter recognized that signal as one where Neal would manage his language so as to not disclose too much information to incriminate himself. Peter knew there was a whole lot more to the story than what had already come to light, so he continued pressing. "A three and a half million dollar jewelry heist would hardly seem worth all this to a seasoned Assistant Director of the FBI. Why would he risk so much for so little."

Neal remained quiet. He knew it was worth so much more than three and a half million dollars in stolen jewelry. His mind flashed on Mozzie and how this con had been his idea all along. The Nazi plunder was beginning to put a strain on their relationship as Neal struggled with having to constantly deceive Peter. He didn't want to deceive Mozzie or Peter, but that was the position he was in. One man would be out. That decision was one of the hardest he had ever had to face in his life.

But right now he knew he couldn't come clean to Peter. He couldn't betray Mozzie right now. They had been through so much together, and he knew his mind needed to think clearer before he could say anything to Peter.

"What's wrong, Neal," Peter questioned. He knew something was wrong. He knew his partner was holding back on something. He knew Neal knew more than what he was saying.

"I'm just tired. My throat hurts a little," Neal raspily whispered.

"What are you holding back?"

"Nothing," Neal responded, trying to muster up his most innocent facial expression.

Peter cleared his throat. He knew Neal was a master chess player and was known for his strategic moves. He hardly ever had to sacrifice a chess piece to win the game. Confidence, intelligence, and strategy…that was Neal Caffrey. Peter continued poking, "There was something interesting that Mozzie told El that I haven't quite figured out."

"What?"

"When your tracking data implicated you, he said that you didn't need the proceeds from the jewelry heist. That's how he knew you were innocent. What did he mean by that, Neal? Isn't three and a half million a sizable chunk of change for _you_?"

Neal knew his best option was to remain completely quiet. He didn't know what to say to Peter. After all they had been through, he wanted to tell Peter, to come clean, but he also didn't want to be disloyal to his oldest friend and partner. Neal's physical discomfort was revealed on his face. With Peter it was coming down to the white collar criminal or the white collar division. He felt absolutely torn. If he chose the world of the white collar criminal, then he knew that he and Mozzie would need to leave immediately. Bancroft—and now Peter—was too close on his heels.

Peter reached into his pocket and held out his hand in front of Neal. He then placed the contents of his hand onto the nightstand beside Neal's bed. Neal turned his head to see what Peter had placed on the table. Shining vibrantly on the table was the gold FBI tie pin that Peter and Elizabeth had given him for his birthday the evening this whole escapade had started.

"You have a family who is there for you…a family who loves you. All you have to do is trust us and be truthful to us," Peter quietly said as he patted Neal's shoulder.

Neal could feel emotion rising up inside him.

Peter could see Neal's change in facial expression. He continued, "I know you and I have not always been honest with each other. I know our relationship hasn't been as personal as it could be. But I'm here for you…okay? All you have to do is talk to me. I can help you. I will, you know that…don't you?"

Neal reached his hand over and picked up the tie pin. Peter didn't stop him. At that moment, the FBI pin was more important that any DNA underneath Neal's fingernails that might get lost.

Neal clinched the pin tightly in his hand. He could feel the pain from the chains of his captivity radiating up through his arm.

"If in fact Bancroft is the mastermind behind all this, then we have a lot of work we need to do to bring him down," Peter continued.

Neal looked up at Peter with the realization that Peter might actually believe him that Bancroft was the mastermind behind the scheme. But more importantly, Peter's words revealed to Neal that Peter needed his partner.

"So you believe me," Neal asked.

"I need your help, Neal. I cannot do this alone."

Neal could feel a tear about to leave his eye, and he shuffled his arm against the side of his face to catch the escaped droplet before it glided down his cheek.

Peter continued to sit—still and silent. Watching his young partner have to endure so much pain made him hurt.

Neal pushed his eyes up to stare at the ceiling. He wanted to look at anything other than Peter Burke.

Peter turned as he heard Diana and Jones enter the room. They carried some FBI equipment with them to extract the DNA from underneath Neal's fingernails. They made small talk for several minutes after they had finished then stated that they wanted to get the evidence to the lab.

"You coming, Boss," Diana asked.

"Yes," Peter answered. He had ordered guards to stand post outside of Neal's hospital room. He knew that Neal would now be safe, but he still felt guilty for having to go. But he needed to go. T_rust no one Mulder_ resounded in his head.

"I'm sorry…I really do need to evaluate this new evidence. You're going to be safe now. I've got to get out of here. Are you going to be all right?"

"I'm fine, Peter," Neal answered, not looking at Peter.

"Are you sure," Peter asked.

"Yes."

"Okay, then I'll see you tomorrow. I'm glad you're okay. Trust me, I'm going to get to the bottom of this. Bancroft won't get away with what he's done."

"Okay," Neal responded. But that worried Neal because Bancroft knew the level at which Neal was involved in the Nazi plunder. Catching Bancroft also meant the likelihood of catching Neal.

As Peter headed to the door, he turned around to look at Neal, "Remember, people can change."

Neal nodded, "I know, Peter…I know. Heard that one time." He smiled up at Peter, dropping his hand back to the nightstand to place the tie pin down.

After Peter left, Neal lay quietly in the hospital bed. He was so incredibly conflicted. He knew Bancroft was on to him and Mozzie, so they would have to leave as soon as possible if they were going to get away with the Nazi plunder. He knew Peter knew more than he was saying, and he knew that Peter knew he was somehow involved deeper with Bancroft. Shit.

He had come to think of Peter and Elizabeth as family, and betraying them by choosing the con over them would take away the only real family he had ever known. He wanted a family…had craved being included in a family…and Peter and Elizabeth had opened up their lives to him. Shit.

If he came clean to Peter, then he would be a Judas to Mozzie. Mozzie had been there for him for so many years now. He loved Mozzie and wanted to run off with him and the Nazi plunder while at the same time be there with Peter and Elizabeth and the FBI. Shit.

He wanted to scream. The entire situation was completely screwed up. Thumbing through the overcoat he had left at the Burke home that Peter had brought to the hospital, Neal retrieved his cell phone. He needed to call Mozzie. If they were going to leave, then the plans needed to be set in motion immediately. As he held the cell phone in one hand ready to hit speed dial, he picked up the FBI tie pin on the nightstand and held it in his other hand.

He let out a small laugh as he held out his two hands in front of his face. Pin or plunder? Shit.

In one hand he realized he held his life with the Burkes; in the other he held his life as a conman. Staring at his two hands, he recalled Peter's constant reminders that he couldn't be both a con and a man. He then closed his eyes with both items still in his hands, not knowing what to do. He clenched both tightly to his chest.

Several minutes later, he lifted his head and opened his eyes. He wanted, for the first time in his life, to actually think about what he would do and not act impulsively. He needed to think about consequences, which wasn't natural for him.

His eyes moved back and forth between his hands. He laughed at himself for being in this predicament. How did his life get to this? It was never supposed to be this way. He was never supposed to find a home with Peter and the FBI. He had always been a con, and a con was who he was supposed to always be. But Peter had opened an entirely different door to him…a door he never thought was possible.

Then, as he sat there staring at the tie pin and the cell phone, Neal's battered and bruised face looked up at the ceiling. He knew he couldn't be both a con and a man. Those words finally made sense to him.

Then, as he stared at the cell phone in one hand and the FBI tie pin in the other hand, a small devilish—yet sincere—smile crept onto his face. He knew at that very moment what he was going to do…what he had to do.

The end…_possibly to be continued later in another story_.

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**A/N: ** Thanks to all who continued with this story. I enjoyed writing it—especially being able to drop a favorite song title, a favorite TV line, and references to some literature. I really liked trying to get into the heads of two of my favorite TV characters. Please don't think I copped out by ending the story this way: that was my intent all along. In typical Eastin style, I wanted to end with the reader guessing what Neal will choose to do. I might possibly continue this story if readers are interested. If so, please let me know. I'll get working! Thanks for hanging with me. I appreciate the readership and the reviews! -Jenny


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